


Omega

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a name and also a grade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omega

Omega. And Omega grade, on his hard researched thesis. How could it have happened?! Peylix stared in horror, determined to prove that there had been an error, a mismatched registration number somewhere down the marking line, any number of explanations sprung to his well oiled mind that could have and must have been it. The explanation, never an excuse, because there was nothing wrong. He, Peylix, star student in the Arcadian Academy, couldn’t possibly have been awarded a failing grade! It wasn’t impossible, nothing was impossible, but then again… It was highly, highly improbable. Illogical, even. Whether or not he had been promised, for the sake of his obviously shining future, a second chance at writing his thesis was beyond the point, there was just no way that he could had failed. It was unbelievable, and he knew that he was mentally rambling, but he also knew that he was speaking the truth. Professor Skazofratx was a fool, and he, Peylix, the real brains, would get his theories of time travel remarked, for Pythia’s sake, he was onto something and they just couldn’t see it!

The hard copy of his failure was balled into one slim fingered fist, and Peylix had refused, even after coaxing from those few he called friend, to let it go. Physically and metaphorically, because in his mind it all made crystalline sense. He knew that he alone was an unmatched Gallifreyan genius, lapping up information like a starved sponge, but surely someone else could see he was right! After all, it was all there, as plain as his eyes were blue and his hair was blond. Teleportation was something the general Gallifreyan could understand – project a replica of A, let’s call it B, from point X to point Y, then destroy the original A. It was widely used, explainable, and in Peylix’s mind perfectly translatable into the other thirteen under-respected dimensions, in which case if he could prove his theories the possibilities were literally endless. Find and harness enough energy to pass safely through a singularity that formed a sort of tunnel between level II and III universes, and you were on your way! Of course, the process would be a little difficult where time was concerned, you’d need to think about the process of time dilation, a sort of accidental time travel, in an area of extreme space-time curvature. In short – a wormhole.

Even to Peylix, it was a difficult concept, but if explained in more than thirteen thousand words as his was he had felt fairly confident there would be someone who would be able to understand it. In fact, with as detailed a description as he had given, diagrams included, even a Gallifreyan toddler should surely have had some idea. After all, they were a fairly well developed race, for all their hindrances. Lifespan being one of them, but Peylix was adamant that if he could create time travel, he could find a way to live for far longer than Gallifreyans currently could. Why not? It seemed reasonable and it was, even Rassilon had shown some interest when Peylix had asked him to read over a few chapters clearly over his head! That was what annoyed Peylix the most, possibly even more than that he had been written down as a failure. Nearly, anyway. Finally letting the balled up paper fall to the red grass, he dropped his head into his hands with a loud, echoing groan.

Mount Lung; for a Gallifreyan so dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge and who was noted for locking himself in a laboratory for hours and sometimes days on end, it was quite odd that Mount Lung, the shadow of Lake Abydos, was where Peylix came to calm down. To think. He’d come here as soon and as quickly as he could, once all of his lectures and tutorials were over, his notes studiously written and filed away for later reference. He wasn’t much of a runner, at least not until the fear of Rassilon was put in him, but he could when he wanted to. And the student shuttles went nowhere near as far as he wanted to go, so he’d had to. It had taken him three hours of hiking (thesis clasped in one hand and a flask of water in the other only because he saw no point in dying of thirst when there was thinking and scheming to be done) but here he was, red stains quickly marring his pristine green robes as he sprawled on the grass, looking up at the sky as though the answers were there. Which in a way, they were. Space and time travel being in the sky after all. And of course, when he finalised time travel he wouldn’t have to take three hours, would he?

But it was calm here, quiet, almost how he imagined what he had decided to coin the time vortex – his extended wormhole theory. Silent. Infinite. Beautiful, even, but the last one was probably in the eye of the beholder. It was hardly going to be the Golden Ratio, when he proved that it was out there, was it? The best he could hope for was a ragged mess that did what it was supposed to. And on that note, it was a matter of principle and he was not going to redo his thesis. Why should he? He was right! It all pointed to this, it was possible, it was more than just a far fetched science fiction movie from Mutter’s Spiral, no, and they knew that. Skazofratx, Castrivax, all the other professors, they all knew that Peylix was right, but they were scared. Traditions what they were, living under the Pythia’s thumb, it was insane to ask them to throw convention out the window. Peylix could, in a way, consider himself the Galileo of Gallifrey. Not that anyone on their side of the universe knew much about historical Earth figures but with time travel they could change that. Peylix’s discovery could revolutionize it all, turn it on its head, and they were scared.

He shouted. There and then, wordless insults and furies shouted at the heavens had he ever believed in a life after death, his fists balled, his eyes wide with a mad sort of glint. No… No! He would not give up, he could not! This Omega grade, this failure, it was only a miniscule blemish on what he was sure would be the infamous map of his life. He would do great things, he would, even if his family insisted on fawning over his younger brother. In fact, it was an irony that his success would stem from a failure. An Omega… His moment of madness passed, dubiously so, his face broke into a wide and desperate grin, as he paused to skim a rock across the hill and watch it bounce in temporal arcs down the slope. Omega. That’s what he would call himself. So that when he showed them all, they would beg for forgiveness for their false scorn. And it had a sort of ring to it as well – in the Ancient Greek, Omega was the end. Final. He would be the one to end all trouble, all worries, end an era and start one where the Gallifreyans were on top of the universe with time and space at their fingertips. Maybe, just made, one day they would call themselves Time Lords… Rassilon had, after all, always rambled about the greatness of their species.

Abandoning his pebbles Omega picked up his thesis again, flattening it out and pulling a green pen from behind his ear. Standard Arcadian issue, but sufficient. He would correct any errors there might be, improve upon his thesis, and hand it in again come hell or high water. If he was expelled from the Academy, so be it. He didn’t need a piece of paper telling him he had a degree to be a genius. In fact, he might as well drop out himself – it would infuriate his family, yes, but he didn’t need them to tell him what to do either. They would see, the academy would see, all of Gallifrey and eventually time and space would see! He, Peyl – no, Omega. He, Omega, would show them all. “The alpha and the Omega.” He rolled it over his tongue, repeated, emphasis the latter word. Yes. That would do. And to end an era, he rewrote his name on the top of the page.

Omega.


End file.
